


R is a letter, not a name, even he knows that and he was born today!

by memearchive



Series: A set of Earths that exist by my will only. I am DC's God now. [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Amnesiac Dick Grayson, Angst, BAMF Dick Grayson, Bloodlust, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Casual Murder, DC kept giving Dick identity crisises and since I; too; have those frequently, Dick Grayson is Red X, Dick Grayson is Robin, False Identity, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt No Comfort, I can't resist a good tag, I felt that's a given but the tag is there so, I took this bad bitch and slapped a few more concussions into him., Identity Issues, It should be both, Later later it'll come later trust me., Lazarus Pit (DCU), Lazarus Pit Madness, Loss of Identity, Memory Loss, Murder, Name Changes, One of my hands is cold and the other is warm and it's very strange., Protective Bruce Wayne, Temporary Character Death, You also know it's my story when it's oops! All brain damage., You know it's my story when it starts with one tag: Angst, it can be both, like a lot, that should really be a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:55:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29124513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memearchive/pseuds/memearchive
Summary: "He's falling, being buried deeper beneath the concrete and he pushes up with every shred of energy left, green eyes fueling each movement, and then he's staring into them.No, no no that's not right. That's not right. These eyes are different."Hush, child," A voice says, and it doesn't match anything in his head. The fire doesn't leave his body despite his muscles solidifying around him. He wants to scream but his mouth is glued shut."Or, Dick Grayson died in action as Robin I at age 15. A series of butterfly effects later, and he's alive and kicking. Kicking, as well as stabbing, assaulting, and killing. What? It's not his fault he came back crooked.
Relationships: Alright who's shipping Nyssa and Dick romantically/sexually? Why., And the chapters were already written., Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Members of the Team (Young Justice), I know what you're thinking. Ren; why Nyssa? No one knows Nyssa. Talia would be perfectly, Not a Single platonic option so I made one., Nyssa al Ghul & Dick Grayson, Well I'll have you know I thought this through directly after remembering Talia existed, acceptable and it would make sense. Talia loves Bruce and Bruce loves Dick.
Series: A set of Earths that exist by my will only. I am DC's God now. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137059
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My writing program has a much smaller HUD so this looks like far less writing than I thought it was. So that's why you get so much in chapter fucking one. It was supposed to be three, but this will do.
> 
> I guess I'm not allowed as many cliffhangers.
> 
> Cringe.

The explosion catches the Team off-guard. What the hell?

"Move!" Robin shouts at the same time Aqualad yells, "Take cover!"

The Team splits, Miss M throwing pieces of rubble away as Artemis follows her out a window, Aqualad disappearing behind a large chunk of concrete that Robin is only semi certain didn't hit him.

Kid Flash tries to run, his leg erupting in pain. The beam is pinning him down, and try as he might, he can't vibrate out. 

Robin isn't running, he's just _standing there_ , looking around until he ultimately sees the yellow lump that is Wally West underneath the collapsing roof. He races to him, and their eyes meet.

"Rob r-"

A new blast shakes the building, and Robin leaps forward, only to vanish beneath a hunk of ceiling that is now the floor.

Wally just stares, and then stares some more, before he screams. He screams, and screams, and _screams_ his throat raw.

The metal beam raises, and there are strong arms wrapping around Wally, lifting him up as he _shrieks_ but then they're being pelted with what used to be a wall, and KF looks up. Superboy's eyes are wide and he's asking Wally something, but he can't hear.

For the longest time, they stay like that; Superboy's body protecting Wally's, blood gushing from his leg as he screams his throat hoarse.

The building takes too long to steady, but as soon as it does, Conner throws the concrete off.

 _'Is everyone alright?'_ Kaldur's voice startles Wally as he limps towards the centre of the room.

"Over _here_ ," Wally chokes, and Conner catches him before he drops.

"Stop moving," He demands.

 _'Kid Flash? Robin? Superboy?'_ Kaldur calls when they don't answer.

 _'We're fine.'_ Conner says, and Wally demands again for him to _lift the damn thing off his best friend, for god's sake!_

Superboy's nostrils flare, but his expression is schooled. 

"I saw." He tells Wally, "I- You need a doctor."

" _Lift the damn concrete, Conner_ ," Wally hisses, pushing his way free but Superboy tightens his grasp.

"I'm...sorry." He says, "You don't need to see that."

"See _what_? Robin? Yes I _do_ he's my _friend_ \- get him _out_ \- _he_ needs a doctor!"

Superboy falls silent as he carries Kid Flash away, Wally still screaming when they reach the rest of the Team. Aqualad meets Superboy's eyes, but Kid Flash doesn't.

They stand in the deafening quiet until the Bioship arrives, and Aqualad quietly touches his comm, saying, "Team reporting back to the Mountain...one injury, one casualty."

Kid Flash breaks away from Superboy, and he knows it wasn't from strength but _pity_. He stares at the collapsed building, the creaking bridge above it teetering dangerously. The _one_ time they go close enough to Gotham, and its grimy fingers still claimed one of its protectors. Wally sneers across the waters, glaring at the looming building that fail to threaten him.

"You _monster_ ," He hisses, and Aqualad is the one to stop him from taking a step on a broken leg. What's he going to do, anyway? Beat up a fucking city?

"Stop." He says, quietly, "Stop."

Wally shakes his head, but obeys. Maybe if he looks away, it'll stop being real. It barely feels it, but his throat hurts and his leg is mending itself beneath him, so maybe it is.

"You are not the only one who feels...grief, right now," Aqualad says, and his tone shows it's supposed to be comforting, but Wally just balls his fists.

"I _know_ ," He hisses, "God I- I know," And then, a horrible thought passes his mind. But it turns more pleasant, when the image of Dent's faces being smashed until both are uglier than the burnt. If Wally can't get revenge..Batman sure as hell can.

"We..have to go," Kaldur says, and this time, Wally follows.

* * *

"Nyssa al Ghul," Batman growls, a blade at his throat that slowly slides down as he turns to face the woman.

"Bruce Wayne," she says, then corrects with a nod of her head, "Batman."

"Why are you here?" He demands.

"Skipping the pleasantries, I see," Nyssa hums. She's alone, which is odd in and of itself. She paces around Batman with the slightest sly grin, "My business is League business."

"Your business is my business," He snaps.

She just stares at him before sheathing her sword, "I am not here to harm you, your ward or your city. Leave me be, and I will leave you be."

Secret League business in Gotham is sketchy enough, but secret League business in Gotham that _doesn't_ concern him, is sketchy at _best_.

"I want you gone by morning."

"It will be done."

He turns, and she's gone. So that's what that feels like.

* * *

In an instant, a roaring pain rushes through the entirety of his body. The next second, the air is like fire on his skin, and he gags on each breath. His body feels like it's liquid, each muscle dripping off of bare bone as he struggles to control tremours.

He's falling, being buried deeper beneath the concrete and he pushes up with every shred of energy left, green eyes fueling each movement, and then he's staring into them.

No, no _no_ that's not _right_. That's not right. These eyes are different.

 _Black_ , these eyes are- these eyes are black.

"Hush, child," A voice says, and it doesn't match anything in his head. The fire doesn't leave his body despite his muscles solidifying around him. He wants to scream but his mouth is glued shut. 

He's tensed through every ounce of his body, trying to contain _something_ but it all wants to _get out, get out get **out**._

Training, his training...what was he trained? Unknown threat; observe and attack. He can't observe, his eyes aren't working right. 

He lunges.

Something sharp hits his arm, and it appears he isn't liquified. Something red down his arm is, though, and he ignores it in favour of swinging a leg around and rolling under the next strike.

The flames re-erupt in his gut, and he growls.

He bends up into a backflip, landing behind the creatur- person, behind the person, and races away. Run.

That's part of the training, he thinks. _Observe, attack, if you know you can't win, **run**. I want you to run, okay?_

Where? It doesn't matter. If he wasn't told, it doesn't matter.

He runs, and runs and _runs_ to nowhere and no one in particular. But he runs, and he's faster than he thinks he should be. His vision is unfamiliarly blurry and he leaps to avoid a car hitting him, but they stop honking after the lights blind him. The pain in his chest is back, and he doubles over against a wall to hold it down, pushing it into his stomach and letting out a sound between a scream and a sob.

It hurts.

He regathers himself and sprints, bounding up a metal staircase- a fire escape, he knows, and breaks the first dark window he reaches, because for some reason there's no doors.

He lands in a heap in a dark room, looking up shakily. He clenches his fists and forces a breath out.

_Observe_.

There's a ratty couch beside him, and he puts his back to it for cover. A small wooden stand that should, logically, hold a television lies empty in front of it. The windows are all shut and the only curtains are torn blue ones beside the fire escape and the television-that-should-be-but-for-some-reason- _isn't_.

Behind him sits a small kitchen, the fridge half opened and tugged away from the wall, definitely unplugged. The appliances are all old but none of them look unusable, and he makes note of that as he looks around for a bedroom.

The closest door is shut tight, and he carefully decides not to bother with that one for right now. The light expelling beneath it lets him know there's probably someone inside, and, again. For later.

He creeps down the short hall after silently noting the jacket and shoes closet beside what must be the front door. A revolting stench invades his nostrils that only fades when he passes into the next room.

The bedroom has an old mattress on a rickety bedframe, a vanity beside it with a drawer pulled open to violently the back of the entire dresser must have been tugged with it. There's an end table with a lit lamp beside the bed and a guitar lying in dust beneath it.

The apartment seems relatively...unused. Which makes it unusual that there is an occupant, but something tells him they aren't the most _active_.

To anyone but his surprise, the alit bathroom lies in disarray.

The sink is coated in red, the mirror splattered and a body lies against the glass of the shower stall. He silently shuts the lights off, closing the door and creeping back to the couch.

Now...now what?

He observed, there was no use of attack, and if there's no attacking there's no fatality risk, and therefore no running. There's more, he knows, but all he knows is _come home_ but where's _home_?

Is this home?

Home is a dead body in the bathroom and bed bugs? Well, okay.

It's the only place that vaguely resembles one that he knows, so it...it might be. He _did_ choose the place on _instinct_. Maybe it is. Whoever that man is...he doesn't know. And if he doesn't know, it mustn't matter.

He stands, returning to the bathroom with new intent.

He grabs the man by the armpits, lugging him onto the tiled floor.

He finds a washcloth and begins scrubbing the blood away, barely noting the cuts marring the man's skin as he works. He finishes, tossing the washcloth into the hamper. He notices the man's wallet and phone on the sink along with a note, and grabs them all, stuffing the wallet and note into the man's pant pockets, then carrying him onto the fire escape, guiding unmoving legs up to the rooftop.

He unlocks the man's phone with a fingerprint, calling emergency services and dropping the thing onto his body when the agent asks for his name...that begs a good question. What _is_ his name?

He doesn't know.

He touches his chest, the _R_ on it. It's yellow, and there's red - bloody fire _screaming_ and roaring both on and below his skin, tightening around his heart that matches the pattern in harsh pumps - adorning the rest of his body down to a belt that matches the letter, black pants and something torn on his back.

He makes his way back to his new base- or perhaps _old_ base, and tries to think. _R_ what could _R_ mean?

Obviously a name, but _which_ one?

He looks into the splattered mirror in the bathroom, gloved hands wiping red away only to reveal more underneath. His face is tan, his eyes covered by a black mask but it's cut enough that it's barely effective. He pulls it off and stares at the yellow spirit gum left over on his cheekbones.

His face is fuzzy, and he blinks, trying to steady his vision. His eyes are blue, he sees, and tries to return to his body. He feels like he's watching over his shoulder, limbs too light and head too heavy, and he makes a sound.

Right. He can talk.

Fine, fine he'll do this the complicated way.

What does he know?

He is trained; _observe, attack/run_. He has a mask, _R_ , his eyes are green, this apartment is his home, the woman was not the eyes he knew. 

That's...it? That's all the information he has?

Well, he also knows person and fire escape, so he knows English, which is something, too. But what else? R what does- fuck it. He's naming himself.

_R_...What's...

He looks at his chest, at the letter and back into the mirror.

Red starts with _R_.

Fine, he'll be _Red_ until further notice. Not very clever, but what else will he go by? _R_? That's a letter. Not a name. Even he knows that much, and he was born today.

Red finally takes _full_ note of the state of the bathroom, and sighs. Guess he'll _clean_ next. Mission Objective Alpha...bleaching out this blood.


	2. Chapter 2

"Aqualad, mission report," Batman says before he even finishes entering the room. He looks over the Team; they have been back for longer than he thought.

 _Robin_ and Kid Flash are missing, but they're usually glued together, so maybe one of them was injured, and they are in the medical bay. His heart is pounding so loud he barely hears the Atlantean's careful voice.

"We were unsuccessful in apprehending Dent due to the collapse of the block below the bridge...there were no civilian casualties to our knowledge. Artemis and Kid Flash created a perimetre during the beginning of our first sweep."

Batman's jaw clenches. Oh, god.

"Who?" It's not a question. He has never wished a civilian death before, but there is a first time for some things, apparently.

Kaldur looks down, swallowing thickly, "Kid Flash was..." Dead? Oh, god, Robin must be crushed- "-injured. He was caught in the first explosion-"

 _No_. No, no _no_. 

Bruce's eyes sweep over the room. _No_.

No one meets his gaze, not even Kaldur, not even Arthur, who shockingly enough stands behind his protégé instead of his usual absence. The other mentors all stand beside their partners, and what Bruce wouldn't _give_ to hold his son as Barry likely is his nephew right now. Oh, god.

"I am...so sorry, sir," Kaldur says, taking a shaky breath, "But, Robin was caught in the blast as well. I am afraid he did not make it out."

The room is silent, and he tries, oh Kaldur tries to hold Bruce's gaze, but the Dark Knight drops his head, a fist clenching and then the other.

Arthur pulls Kaldur back, and Bruce feels his heart tighten. 

"His body?" He asks, looking up.

"We didn't retrieve it," Conner says, and Bruce looks at him. Clark stands nearby, but his arms are crossed and he's looking away, "Wally was...we..." he makes a face, and Bruce silences him.

"Clark, hug your damn son," he says, instead of whatever the entirety of the room seemed to be expecting. He can feel the eyes boring into him like he's just Bruce Wayne at a gala, cameras in his face and too many people bombarding him.

"I...okay." Clark does as told, likely out of confusion than anything else, and the hug looks awkward, one arm around Conner as the boy just stands there, stiff.

"I need to...go find Robin." He says, looking away and stepping towards the Zeta. His eyes boil in their sockets and he nearly stumbles before he makes it in. Oh god.

 _No_.

* * *

Batman stares at the billowing flames of the destroyed bridge and its horrible state. _Dear god_.

Bruce refocuses his mind on the current situation, and his heart clenches. He blinks, trying to unblur blinding lights and takes a better look at the wreckage.

The surrounding buildings, much like Aqualad had recounted when the bombs first went off, are all in complete ruins. He's shocked so many of them managed to get out at all, and he hates the pang of _anger_ that assaults him. Why _his_ son? Why not one of them? Why not the invincible Superboy, who would have been _fine_ if caught beneath. Why didn't he protect Robin?

Or Wally, who can run at the speed of sound? Why didn't he help Robin out?

Miss M, the _Martian_ who could tell his location with a simple mind sweep. Why didn't she _warn them_?

He pushes it all out of his head, tensing every muscle in his body. _Don't blame them_ , he scolds himself, _they're **kids** they lost their **friend**_.

He can grieve as soon as his son is in his arms. As soon as he can hold him, even if his skin will be cold and his eyes empty. Even if Dick won't hold him back.

He glides down into the rubble, clicking his scanners on and preparing for a long night.

* * *

Red.

His hands, his uniform, his face. The bodies around him, their snapped limbs and they clawed out eyes.

His bones tremble beneath heavy skin and he twirls the strangely shaped shuriken between nimble fingers. It's dripping with blood, and the entire scene reminds him of his bathroom. He cleaned it, yeah, but at the cost of his sanity.

Red decided that he was going to go out, find answers. Whatever those may be, but sitting around in a strange apartment wasn't getting him anywhere. And if some goons get in his way, he gets rid of them. He doesn't have...well, he might have all night. He's not sure, which makes him uneasy, and he cleans off the shuriken on his uniform.

He needs a new suit, Red knows, but he's working on that.

Specifically, he's working on getting the materials. He's gotten as far as a warehouse he found after some annoying searching on a stolen laptop from his neighbour's far more _intact_ house. That's when he got attacked.

Red searches the coded-ly labeled boxes and finds the closest thing to the Kevlar tri-weave that he currently wears. Well, that's what he _thinks_ it is, but he's not positive. 

Red finds a suit of a the stuff in all black, looking around for somewhere to put it. He finds a filled backpack in a small office space; probably one of the men he knocked out earlier's. He empties it out, stuffing the Kevlar inside and swinging it over his shoulder. Good enough.

This particular factory only makes the bottom layers, and he'd rather have more armour than _this_ , but he realises that he'll have to go home to find a new location, and contemplates exploring the city more.

One hour.

Red leaves, hopping from building to building and experimenting with his grappling gun, mentally keeping track of time. He finds that many of the city's warehouses are empty or filled with armed men. He's no expert, but he doesn't think product manufacturing takes this much firepower.

He flings himself upwards towards a tall building with a poster of a standard rich white boy above it, some slogan illuminating the night in yellow.

Red looks off and at the buildings below.

He spots his apartment far further down, in what looks like the slums in comparison to where he is right now. Not a shock, he doesn't feel like the kind of person to be in penthouses or mansions.

He glances towards the smoke billowing near what might have been a bridge, once.

Red flies towards it, an odd déjà vu rushing over him like a wave in the ocean.

He lands on the closest building he can find, much of the blocks around it collapsed and sitting in a faint glow. It couldn't have been _too_ recent, but he can't help his curiosity.

His weird feeling makes him a bit concerned, but there's no way this could have had anything to do with him. He woke up hours ago, far from this place. It's fine.

And, oh, how Red loathes that he can remember and remember and _remember_ his training, yet not _who_ trained him. It makes him tense and he glances up at movement.

A shadowy figure stands on top of the more diagonal than vertical frame of the bridge. Red takes that as his cue to leave, and heads back towards the oddly well protected warehouses near the docks.

He needs to take out some frustration.

The second time Bruce sees Nyssa, is on his way back to the collapsed bridge separating Gotham from its neighbouring city. He's gone every week, watching as the fire fighters became construction workers, the bridge taking shape again. Soon, it'll be good as new. The neighbourhoods, too.

But he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to walk through the area. Knowing that his _son_ is buried in the concrete, somewhere he can't fucking _find_ \- not with scanners deep enough to find ore in the ground beneath the sewers, not with Superman and Martian Manhunter at his sides. 

He buried an empty casket, and his heart remains with a piece missing.

"Dammit," he hisses, grappling onto the highest point of what remains of the old bridge. He peers down, about to click his scanners as he does each time when footsteps behind him set him off. He vaguely notes a shadow vanishing where it's never stood before, but is busy dealing with _this_ to notice.

Batman spins, catching the blade and tugging Nyssa close enough that he can grab her by the neck.

" _What_?" He growls.

"I-" she slaps his hand and he lessens his grip, "-unhand me you flying _rodent_."

He drops her with a snarl, and Nyssa frees her sword with an odd expression.

"What do you want?" Batman demands, "I'm busy."

He looks back at the spot the shadow was. Then again, his mind has constantly tried to fool him since that night. Flames he never touched blasting wooden walls that still stand after. Then again, his head is just so eager to zone out as of recently, and while probably take as many coincidences as possible to excuse it.

He should know better, though. There's no such thing as a coincidence.

"I can see that," she hums, gesturing around, "This wasn't me, by the by."

"It was Harvey Dent. Two-Face. I'm aware," Batman replies, "You haven't answered my question, Nyssa."

"Right," she drawls, a hand on her hip, "I just came to tell you...I was here on a League mission. Finding a Lazarus Pit in Gotham...I didn't find it."

"Why are you telling me this?" He asks, mentally filing the information away for later. Did she find it? Why in _Gotham_? Is Ra's dead, again?

"Because I didn't find it." She replies, "False alarm...and I know you wouldn't rest until you found my business, and because I didn't, I knew you wouldn't." She says, before adding, "And you know how _Talia_ worries," she gives him a little smile that he ignores.

"I don't believe you." When the League hears about a Lazarus Pit, they always find it. And if Nyssa al Ghul can't, then no one can. Either she did find it, and is trying to get him off her trail, or she was here for a _different_ flavour of League mission. Both ways, Nyssa is lying, and it's sending alarm bells off in various parts of his brain.

"I know." She shrugs, "You don't have to, though. You can investigate all you'd like, but I felt like dropping in, tell you you don't _have to_ , Bruce." She pauses, and then says, more solemnly, "You already have enough on your plate as it is." She lets her hand fall from his chest plate, and she turns away.

The bridge shakes, and Nyssa is gone when Batman looks up again. How does he keep falling for that? It's _his_ trick.


	3. Chapter 3

Red stares at his work.

It took a few days of searching, raiding and Googling, but he's made it. A goddamn _helmet_.

After a minour concussion during his second expedition for materials, Red has made the decision that maybe more than a mask that barely sticks on is necessary. 

It's black, with a white front that mirror the lens scanners on his domino mask to the best of his engineering capability, the white able to flick up like a motorcycle visor. It looks a tad bland, and he contemplates a design. After all, what's the point of beating the snot out of people if he doesn't look stylish while he does so?

He could always mirror the R on his chest, but that...looks a bit odd. He drew it up- which was a painful experience, given that he didn't even know if he's right or left handed - it's right - or where to get paper and pencils. Or what pencils to use. As it turned out, though, he is in possession of blue pens and a half-dead black one, strictly, which he ended up using instead of figuring out pencil science in the Staples school supplies aisle.

Red has his entire uniform set up, now, a black Kevlar suit with panels of grey armour over top. It's a bit crude, what with him having to screw together the plates due to him not being in possession of a _blowtorch_. Well, he could always steal one, but then again, he'd really rather not lose an eye over it.

Red has tried on the suit in pieces before, making sure everything fits so he doesn't have to scrap it all and start over, but now he has the helmet, and it's all come together.

He slips into the outfit, tugging the hood down over his face an stretching a bit.

It fits.

Red runs through a few exercises and routines, making sure the suit will hold in combat before taking it off and looking over it.

Still bland.

He stares for a bit longer, before he stands and looks around at his supplies.

Metal, Kevlar, a broken lens piece, limited amount of pens, a tape measure, a tape _dispenser_ , spray paint, some rope, grappling line rope which is distinctly different than the first rope, and one highlighter.

He grabs the spray cans - long story that begins with a disgusting dresser and ends with Home Depot and some decorationial decisions - and glances over the colours he has. Black, green, blue, red, gold and silver. It was a pack. 

Well, if his name is Red, he might as well stick with the theme.

He roughly cuts out a messy stencil, ignoring the voice in his head that tells him he's being a child, and sticks it on the helmet. He tapes it on, checking from the inside that this won't fuck up his line of vision, and then shakes the can and sprays the design on.

Red grins at the final result, the X treating his eyes nicely.

He grabs the silver, spraying over the metal before repeating the X design in two smaller patches, one on the side chest panel and another on the shoulder plate.

Red X.

Well, now he has a full name. Progress.

* * *

Red spends most of the next two nights at his stolen laptop. Overlapped VPNS constantly swapped out as he tries to find anyone that might know who he was. It's really the only thing he has to do, and honestly? He's a tad curious.

He finds a few places. A government organization named _A.R.G.U.S._ \- he can't find much on them, everything heavily encrypted. But, from what he _has_ seen, they aren't the _best_ of people. No surprise there; An old science lab named _Cadmus_ \- long since abandoned, but there could be clues; and, finally, the "legendary" _Justice League_ , who reside in some big building in the District of Columbia. That one might be a bit harder to infiltrate, but if he's already _this_ good at hacking and B&E, he might be on their records.

Red spends the rest of the day training and stocking on supplies before night three. He'll hit Cadmus first. It'll be easiest, given that it's abandoned, and then he'll try A.R.G.U.S., since, although it's _further_ , he's not sure he's ready to face off with an army of superheroes. Plus, A.R.G.U.S. will probably have more than some measly hero HQ.

As the sun begins to fade, Red snatches up his grapple, and makes his way through the state of New York.

It takes him a few hours to reach Cadmus, but not before dawn. Which is lucky, since he's in full get-up. A bit awkward, if he were to be honest, to be caught in some old secret facility dressed like this. It's a good look, he'll admit, but someone might think he's a _supervillain_. Or, worse, a _hero_.

He makes his way in, past the rubble and trash. It's half-collapsed, but whatever.

Red makes his way around the lobby. Not much of anything in it, and the entire top floor is blown to smithereens. For a moment, he clenches an angry fist - he did not waste three hours to get here for _nothing_ -, a glower of green entering his sight until he spots the elevator. The elevator, and all of its many buttons. One, of which, is below the Ground Floor. 

His shaking stops, and he clambers in. A few clicks tells him it's broken, until it rumbles and drops, and then Red is grasping for the vent at the top. Thankfully, the ropes seem to get the jist, albeit belatedly, before he crashes in the fucking _basement_. What's strange, though, is what is supposed to be Sub- _1_ seems more akin to Sub- _30_.

The doors open halfway, and he shimmies through the rest of the way.

The walls are red, a sickly, disgusting, _fleshy_ red, and he makes a face as he walks through. Gross.

It fades into metal partway in, with broken glass, fallen beams and _dead bodies_ littering the floors. It takes him a few tries and multiple turns and passes before he finds anything solid in the base. There's a room with human-sized tubes, another with one slightly _larger_ tube and a few broken spotlights. He finds a lab or..four, along with what might have been a testing area, once. Then, he finds the hall of cabinets. Jesus Christ.

It's a lot. Like, a _lot_.

Red might be here all night.

He checks the first few - okay, labeled, alphabetically. Which would be good, if he- well, if he just _knew_ his goddamn name. Either of them. It doesn't really help that half of the files are smoldered beyond recognition, but he knows he's _R_ so he should just start there, he guesses. Maybe there will be pictures.

_Ralph, Rallom, Ramon, Ray, Raymond, Raven, Reagan, Rhys, Ric, Rickson, Richard, Roan, Roene, Rory, Roy, Ryng_ and a few unnamed ones.

He scatters the files out around him, sorting away the ruined ones until he's left with the seven lucky souls remaining.

Luckily there are photos, most of which are of unconscious men - and one girl, he thinks. Raven. Well, definitely not him. Though, he does have strange scars on his chest, which he. Doesn't understand - and there- oh, _here_ he goes.

A man with orange hair and a mask like his old one - red donned on his chest. Not him, but the file strikes him as curious. Most everyone else doesn't have masks. Nor do they have an _alias_ listed. 

He stuffs the file into his bag, and then, he stops. Bends down. Grasps the half-torn, half-burnt image. Stares at it.

It's _him_. Well, old him. Him, with a black mask and a red leotard and a yellow and black cape. Him with an _R_ on his chest.

So, Cadmus _does_ know him. Or, _he_ knows Cadmus. He's unconscious in one of the tubes from before - the set of them - which means...something. He was a subject here, once. Maybe that'd explain his memory loss...No, no. Cadmus went out of business _years_ ago, according to multiple sources, and, well, the current state of the building.

Red grips the photo like a lifeline, but then drops it. The file was burnt.

The file was burnt. The photo is unmarked, and it fell from a _destroyed_ manila folder. God _fuck_.

Cadmus doesn't have any other headquarters, not that he knows of. And he didn't spot any _intact_ computers, and this- this isn't enough to go off on.

Red screams. He punches the wall, kicks the cabinets and then tips them over. The pages fly and some crinkle to ash in the air, and he throws them about wildly, green pages and tinted black flecks dropping to the ground. He screams again, crinkling one of the pages in his hand before snatching back the image of him. 

Fine. 

Maybe _A.R.G.U.S._ will know whoever the hell he is.

* * *

Batman sits at his desk, his eyes locked on the old sticky-note. It's blue. Scribbled words written in a half-dead pen write _Batcomputer_ on it, at the base of the lowest monitor. Bruce never took it off, and didn't even question it after the _Batmobile_ incident.

He also hasn't removed the ones on the inside of the Batwing, the Batplane, the Batboat or the Batyacht. Which wasn't necessarily a _Batman_ thing until Dick deemed it as such, and that's why Dick is now an open Batman _stan_ , as he had said. He dressed as Batman for Halloween. Bruce felt like, at some point, it stopped bordering on recklessness with their identity and now an ingenious plan. Batman and Robin would be too smart to parade around as Batman fans.

Bruce rubs his forehead. The smile fades and he stares ahead again. He finally tears his eyes from the writing. He has patrol.

* * *

Red takes a few hours at noon and after to rest on the road. He has since stolen a bike - motorbike, not a fucking bicycle, what does he look like? - from Metropolis, and now he's about half-way to Midway, Michigan, which is funny to say. 

The motel is cheap, which is good, because he doesn't have any money. He has the locks all clicked over the doorway, along with the bookshelf because he's paranoid, dressed like a super-something, and also _stealing_ and also trespassing at the same time. 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner crime spree.

Red wakes when he wakes, and it's still bright out. He takes the "free" food in the mini-fridge, and heads out after eating a quick snack of stale crackers and what he _thought_ was water, but was actually a "party size" bottle of cheap vodka. Yes, he can read, no he does not do it often. He drinks it to quench his thirst, but when it dries up his throat instead, he heads to the sink to drink from his palms like a cliché homeless man. Which, well, to be fair, he _is_ homeless, but. Shut up.

Red heads out shortly after with no problem. He makes it to Midway after a few more hours, and spends the time until night stealing civilian clothes and staking out the building.

There are guards at posts surrounding every entrance and exit to the building. There's an electrified fence and cameras all around, and he's certain he's raising suspicion just by circling around. At some point he feigns a jog and loops back around after a few blocks.

There are four entrances and a fifth, if you count the vent on the rooftop he spots after he retires to the...rooftops after his fifth circle. The windows are likely reinforced, and he decides to not count those as entrances or exits. There are sixteen guards, and definitely more inside. The building is wide, only three stories up, but he's positive there will be more beneath. Cadmus style.

Red rests until night.

He hacks into the camera systems, looping the current feed before creeping down towards the fence. He shuts off the generator, climbing up and over.

The night guards don't see him, luckily, preoccupied with inspecting the generator. He snags a keycard off of one passing by him in a bush, and then makes his way back inside, the power returning _just in time_ , he thinks with a grin.

Red completely ignores the upper levels in favour of reaching the employee elevator. Which is very nicely labeled for him.

The keycard he has doesn't allow him down, which means he has two options. Hope that a master level member is in the building, and that he can pick it off of them, or climb down the shaft. He's gonna go with option two.

Red clicks into floor 2, leaving the elevator before the doors shut, and waiting impatiently for it to rise. From there, he pries open the doors yet again, with a crowbar he obviously carries on his person. What? There's only so much a weirdly shaped throwing star can do.

He attaches his graple to the elevator itself, jumping into the shaft before the doors slide closed. He lowers himself down, slowly, the darkness all-encompassing, and the height of the way only hitting him after a few minutes of _click, shhhnk, click, click, shhhnk, click, click, shhhnk, click, click, shhhnk, click, click, shhhnk, click._

He hits the lowest level after he finally lets go of fear and _shhhhhhhhhhhnks_ for a bit longer. The sound shifts when the ground reaches, and he times it a bit off. His foot that hits first screams, but he shakes it off. He's here.

The set-up is drastically different from Cadmus.

Beyond the elevator doors, there is a large lobby-like area, with doors branching out into several corridors. Desks and chairs rest around in a weird _Men in Black_ -esque chamber of operations, with large monitors resting along the walls and a dumb modern art thing sitting directly in the centre of the room.

There's no one there, but when he walks further in, the lights flick on. He wastes no time checking for a silent alarm and shutting it off, but it already rang out. Which means he's on a time limit. Which means he probably has 10 to 15 minutes to find the right room, get what he's looking for, and make a speedy escape. And he doesn't know where to go, _or_ what he's looking for.

So, he pulls up a map.

Thank god for hacking.

He makes his way through the halls until he finds the library, sorting in the _R_ 's again, since he was right last time. He's an _R_. Still not sure what, but he's definitely not a _Roy_ , which is. Something.

Fortunately, the _R_ section of the A.R.G.U.S. filing system is an entire walls worth. Even more fortunately, each cabinet is twelve levels tall, and there's a keyhole for each drawer. There's a ladder against the wall.

Red doesn't have time for this.

Instead, he heads to the biggest office he can find, breaking into the account on the desktop, and heads into the online files. Why didn't he start with this?

Red sets a timer for 8 minutes, and then starts searching.

At 6 and a half minutes, he gets a match. Well, several matches, since he doesn't really know much about anything, but it's something. Names of Gotham City residents with black hair, teal eyes, tan skin and any alias with _R_.

He narrows the search to known criminals and heroes, since the whole mask business tells him he's no civilian. Although, he might just be a LARPer, but his hacking skills tells him otherwise. And that whole _plan-on-the-go, improvise with style!_ plugin he has installed in himself.

He finds a grand total of _eleven_ results. One villain, a cop, and nine civilians/minour criminals.

He scrolls through the faces, discarding the women and the cops, and then rolling his eyes at the _Riddler_ , who is both too green and too crazy and too old to be him.

He runs through the thugs and raises an eyebrow. There's a few black haired, teal eyed boys in there, and he glances over them.

_Jordan Ezrial_ , _Jason Todd_ , _Aaron Fourd_ , _Ethan Nate_ , _Richard Grayson-Wayne,_ and _Thomas Winchester_.

They have criminal aliases - except for _Richard_ , but that's an _R_ , so he's sold - which is weird, but the other _R_ named boys are either too old, too young, or have the wrong coloured eyes or hair. Or they aren't criminals. It's weird, the city is big and yet... Whatever.

Most of their files are mediocre, though, with the biggest crime any of them really committed being misdemeanors. Ezrial has _kidnapping_ on his, and Red doesn't really feel like someone to kidnap another person, but who knows; Nate and Todd both have vandalisation, theft and drug dealing on theirs; Grayson-Wayne has trespassing and shoplifting; and Winchester was a pickpocket and a prostitute. Well, that's all...interesting, but Red can't really go off that.

He compares the photo of himself with all of their faces, but he's not sold. 

The alarm goes off, and he silences it as he downloads the files, heading out to the elevator again. He zips up and pries his way out, coming face-to-face with several guards and about the same amount of guns. A few more, if you count the two turrets.

Red grins behind his helmet and mask, and waves a hand as he grabs his throwing stars from his belt.

"'Sup?"

"Hands in the air!"

"Hard pass."

Red throws a barrage, and then flips - wow, he's awesome - past bullets.

He swings a foot at a gun, his thighs pulling it down as he rolls. He picks it up and slams the butt against a new man's head. Red spins and knees up at a new man's, then throwing the gun at a woman's head.

The bullets ricochet off his armour, and grabs the arm of a gunman, aiming the barrel up at the turret and destroying it. An explosive shuriken blows up the second, and Red springs off and uppercuts someone's chin.

The fires from the destroyed machines burns some of the men, and he spins the neck of whoever is unarmed beneath him. Red pushes off the wall onto someone's chest, breaking them down and slamming his palms into their sternum. He feels it crack and leaps off, twirling onto his hand and slamming his heels into whoever's behind him, grabbing them by the thighs around their neck and tossing them against a woman with a broken arm.

Red pants when he stands in the array of bloody bodies. He rubs his arm - a bullet got his Kevlar, and he can feel it pulsating. The fabric isn't torn, which is good. He'll be fine.

Red escapes the building and grapples onto the rooftops. He finds his motor at the base of the building in the alleyway. He pauses - sleep or run? 

What the hell is he thinking-

Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I fucking hope I stylized this right. Anyway I wrote this painfully, because holy hell was I pulling words from my asshole and I really really hope they make coherent sense. 
> 
> Now I got one whole question for you, dearest reader; do you want Batman/the Team's POV too, or just Red? Because that is something I really don't know what to put.
> 
> Because, when I read stories like this, I usually ignore the POVs that aren't the main character, because I'm horrible like that, and because of this I don't know really what to put for them. But if anyone wants to see it, I'll write it. Not that anyone would even read this bit, so I don't know why I'm writing this except blind hope. Prayer, even. I probably will make a decision regardless because- again- asshole. But, still, I enjoy feedback.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked the Easter Egg in this one. Just some casual reminders of the time Dick was forced into juvi instead of an orphanage and then ran away, rightfully.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I changed this chapter no I will not be taking criticism, this one is so much better.

  
Red isn't sold on his identity. While he's discarded all but two of the boys - which is...an odd sentence -, he's still not certain any of them...are _him_.

For one thing, their eyes are blue, and his are far greener. For another, Ethan Nate - apparently going by _Rose_ because of his dead sister, which is an interesting story - is in jail as of last month, and Richard Grayson-Wayne is both _rich_ and enrolled in a boarding school, currently. While both time frames are very close to when he woke up in that weird green, he doesn't know why his disappearance from his life would be _covered up_ instead of just being marked missing like a normal person.

Red has the images pasted to his word, the image of him in the tub beneath, and he decides that he's going to hit the Hall of Justice anyway. The more information he has, the better. 

He has time until morning when he'll head out to restock his supplies, and he spends that time sharpening metal into throwing stars. Or, well, throwing objects. Most of them are just scrap pieces from his uniform, and he doesn't really care about the shape except if it can cause damage and can throw well.

He practices a bit, then stocks his belt. He sleeps the rest of the time.

He'll need it.

* * *

"Amanda Waller to Hall, come in."

"Hall to Waller. What's the situation?"

Batman has been at the Hall of Justice for four days straight. Working, working some more, and working even more. He told Booster to take the week off, and Michael gladly did.

Comms are easy, and missions are stress relievers, but at this point, there's been less crime than anticipated. Even in Gotham, which is why he left the city to GCPD. Apparently criminals are afraid of a Batman without Robin. He is, too.

Bruce isn't a fan of Waller. She is corrupt, ruthless and the exact kind of person he wants to keep _out_ of the government. But she is a trusted official, and there's not much he can do that she can't do back, and worse. And he needs a distraction, so he takes the call anyway. If he doesn't, someone else will, anyway.

"Break-in at A.R.G.U.S. compound last night." She says, and Batman clicks into the file she's sent over. Multiple photos of the inside of the lobby. The floor is covered in blood, and there are close-ups of the deceased guards as well as of those who survived the attack. There's also a blurry image of the perp. "Highly trained mask broke in. Turned off the generator, got through the doors, hacked into the online files. Nothing is gone, but the system shows they took information from the criminal database."

"Know who it was?" He asks, zooming into the black figure. The outfit looks professional, and they are wearing a helmet, but they are thin, and short. He can't tell their gender, nor any identifying features. Their body is completely covered. 

"No. Elias says it sounded like a kid, though. Short, 5'3-'4. Quick, thin. Athletic. Highly trained. Fought with throwing stars and had a crowbar."

Batman hums. He goes through the images again. 

"Highly trained." He repeats. The injuries are sloppy. Bruises and cuts. Stars stuck around the veins and near the arteries. None in the jugular or carotid, none in the radial, the brachial, the ulnar. The legs aren't hit at all. Arms broken, necks snapped from the side. Even on the deceased, it's done quickly, but _roughly_. "Video surveillance?"

"Cameras were cut and looped from when they broke in. There's no video evidence of what happened except the photos taken at the scene."

"I'm going to need to see the bodies."

"Already sent them to DC. They should be at the coroner by now."

"One last thing," Bruce says, already tugging his cowl on, "What did they take from the database?"

"Criminal records. I'll send them over. All of them are boys from Gotham, but we can't really find much to connect them apart from that."

He vaguely checks that he has the files before closing his mobile computer.

"I'll keep you posted."

He clicks out of the call and stands. A mission. A distraction. A killer on the loose. 

A black cape flutters as he exits the communications room, but he's stopped by a small figure standing in front of him.

"Jesus Christ, are you the Grim Reaper?"

* * *

Red decides that, instead of breaking in at _night_ , he'll head into the Hall of Justice during the day. All of the heroes _should_ be in their respective cities, he's sure. He checked.

Flash is in Central, Superman in Metropolis - thank Christ he didn't stop the A.R.G.U.S. break-in he had so much fun in -, Green Arrow is in Starr, and so on and so forth. And there's no alien invasion or robotic take-over, so he's positive the place with be vacant.

He, apparently, was wrong.

"Jesus Christ," He didn't count on the Count being in the Hall of Justice at 11 AM, "are you the Grim Reaper?"

There's silence, but neither move. Red doesn't know if he can pull off a casual _oops wrong building_ , but Dracula isn't fighting him, so he thinks he might be able.

"You broke into A.R.G.U.S. last night." He says, instead of _put your hands in the air_ or _1, ah ah ah, 2 ah ah ah_ , or even, _blergggghhhh_ so he doesn't really know how to respond.

"I did." Wrong, wrong that's wrong. "They had something of mine." Good, good, turn it around on the government. 

"And what did they have?" Ah, shit, this guy works for the government, doesn't he?

"My identity." Shut _up_ , "What's it to you, big guy?"

And, shockingly, he kneels down. Looks at him, because he's tall enough that half-ing his own height matches Red's own, and then asks, "How did they take your identity?"

Okay, this feels wrong. Fight.

Red knees him in the nose, grabbing his head and flipping between the pointy ears and landing in front of the doorway to the _room full of computers._

"Jackpot."

And while rushing in and slamming the doors behind him like a grounded child seems like the perfect plan, he's almost positive that the Black Bird of Chernobyl will be able to get through the maybe-possibly-lock-owning doors. 

The man throws black shurikens at him and he flips away. Red grabs his crowbar and spins before slamming it into the man's ribcage. He frontflips over his punch, grabbing the arm and going to break the elbow when he's flung against the wall.

His crowbar falls, and he grabs his homemade throwing stars, flinging them at the man as he approaches. He dodges, and grabs Red by the collar, slamming him against the wall, but he uses his feet to climb up and over before leaping off the top of the metal wall.

Red spins and races at him, jumping at the last second and planting an explosive shuriken on his neck, landing in a roll just as he detonates it.

They go a few rounds in hand-to-hand, Red's knuckles screaming and wrist aching before he backflips out of the way, swinging a leg out, but the Devil himself doesn't fall.

Instead, he grabs Red's head, twisting him around until he's grabbing him in a chokehold, forcing him to the ground and clicking something metal around his gloved wrists.

" _Shit_ ," Red curses, kicking the man off, but he's standing already.

"Who are you?" Nalusa Falaya asks, and Red glares.

"Hell if I know." He snaps. "Let me go. I haven't done shit."

"You stole from A.R.G.U.S., broke into the Hall of Justice and assaulted me." He replies, blandly.

"And? There's worse crimes."

"You killed several A.R.G.U.S. agents."

"Well, that's hardly my fault." He grumbles, pushing up so he's sitting, "Maybe they should have fought better."

The man doesn't visibly roll his eyes, but Red can feel it happen anyway. He approaches and holds out a hand.

"I don't want to hurt you." He tells him, as if that makes any sort of sense, "You don't have to do this."

"I don't know if you've _heard_ , Mister Chupacabra, but there's only so many databases in Northeastern America. I kinda _did_ have to."

"For what?" He sounds...oddly, _genuinely_ interested, and Red glares. "For your identity?"

"'Course. What else? Money? I'd rob a bank for that."

"You don't know who you are." He says, like a diagnosis, which is dumb, because Red already _knows_ that.

"Duh."

There's a strange moment where he just stares at him. And then-

"I'll help you. But no more killing."

"I can't _trust_ you," Red hisses, "We just _fought_ , you're a hero, I'm a _villain_ , that's not how this works." But, the thing is...Red doesn't really know if he _wants_ to be sent away. He's not sure if he _wants_ to say no to this man. He clearly has power. Authority. He's trusted alone in the Hall. He's a hero. He's trained, and strong, and an adult. And he's _offering_.

This isn't Red blackmailing someone - which he didn't really plan on, anyway, to be clear. Too much leeway to be hurt. Betrayed. Too much _trust_ while also too little. -, this is someone _asking_ to help.

But can he trust it?

The man pauses. Then, he reaches up, and pulls his cowl down.

Red stares, wide-eyed, and backs up.

"My name is Bruce Wayne," he says, "And I want to help you."

There's a long beat of silence, before Red realises - Richard Grayson- _Wayne_.

This can't be a coincidence.

Even if he can't trust this- _Bruce Wayne_...he's important. Because he's the father of one of the boys that he might be.

But he doesn't want to work with him.

"Tell me who Richard Grayson-Wayne is." But he still needs information.

Wayne pauses. A flash of some emotion crosses his face, before he says, "Don't say that name." His voice is darker than in costume, and Red shifts.

"He's your son." Red says, "I know that much."

"He's dead."

Red pauses. Well, he wasn't expecting that.

"I...thought he was at a boarding school." He admits, "That's what it says in his file. That's what the public knows."

"I lied." He tells him, darkly, "My son is dead." He pauses, before saying, quieter, "I want to help you, but _never_ mention him again. Never."

Red shrinks under his glare, and nods.

"How can I help?" It's gentler, and his glare is gone, but the change in expression is still noticeable.

"All I need is access to the Hall's database. Gotham citizens. Male. Black hair, green eyes, names and aliases that begin with an _R_."

Wayne nods, and stands.

Red follows him into the room he saw earlier, and stands beside him at the computer. 

Well, this went...different than expected.


	5. Chapter 5

Red tears the photos off his wall.

Richard Grayson-Wayne is dead. He visited Ethan Nate in prison. He went to the houses of Jordan Ezrial, Jason Todd, Aaran Fourd and Thomas Winchester. They all exist. None of them are him.

Red slams his fist into the wall. It cracks and crumbles and he punches it again. And again. And again.

When he takes his gloves off the knuckles are bloody and cracked. He can't move two of his fingers. His wrist is swollen. He doesn't care. He punches the wall again.

Red doesn't know who he is.

He's Red X, because Red starts with an R, but R isn't a name and neither is Red and neither is X and neither is Red X.

Jordan Ezrial is a name. Jason Todd is a name. Aaron Fourd is a name. Ethan Nate is a name. Richard Grayson-Wayne is a name. Thomas Winchester is a name. Roy Harper is a name. Red X _isn't_.

Who is he? Who the _hell_ is he?

A freak in a costume.

A freak in a costume with black hair, green eyes, an _R_ on his chest and no fucking name. He doesn't know his own city. It might not even be his. He could have ran here from that damned lake for all he knows. He doesn't remember.

He could be from New York City. He could be from Metropolis. Jersey City. Atlantic City. Starr. Central. Detroit. Midway. Blüdhaven. Los Angeles. Coast. Dakota. Empire. Fawcett. Gateway. He doesn't fucking _know_. He can't even begin to guess.

All he knows is who he isn't.

He's not Jordan Ezrial, or Jason Todd, or Aaron Fourd, or Ethan Nate, or Richard Grayson-Wayne, or Thomas Winchester, or Roy Harper, or Bruce Wayne. He's not Red X.

He's _no one_.

He's a letter. A letter, and a few fucking features that, combined, might only make up 2% of the population of America, but 2% of the population of America is still 6,620,054 people. That's a lot of fucking people!

And who the hell even knows what the _R_ means? What if it means nothing? What if it's just- just a symbol? What if he's been reading too much into this? What if his name is just _R_? Or it's his _father_ or _mother_ or fucking _sibling's_ name? Like _Rose_ and Ethan Nate?

Red pulls hair from his head like grass, and then turns himself around and slams his skull against the wall.

He goes again and again and _again_ until he's dizzy and falling over.

Who is he?

If Bruce Wayne can't help, then who can? Can anyone?

It's at that moment, that he buries himself in his mind. That Red vanishes into his thoughts and his _memories_ , what little of them he has. What does he _know_?

Apart from everything he's covered thus far in his panic attack...he knows that he was born from a green lake. He knows that he was _angry_ and scared and he should probably be more concerned about that than his _identity_ but...he wasn't. Why?

He doesn't know, and finds that he can't care. He won't get answers by caring.

But he knows how he will.

The green eyes.

* * *

Red makes his way through Gotham. He tries to focus. To _know_ where he is, where he went, where he _came from_.

He doesn't know.

But he searches.

He was underground, he thinks. Before. In the lake.

There was rocks. They fell on him, and there's no green lake on any map. So he might have been in a cave. Or, since this is a _city_...A sewer.

Well, that would explain the colour.

Red ventures through the undergrowth, feeling like a rip-off Indiana Jones as he traverses the sewer system of Fuckhole, New York. He gets through what feels like the entirety before he starts to gag, and returns to the surface.

As he heaves onto the ground, his helmet lifted up to reveal his mouth, he feels someone move. Hears their feet. Sees their shadow.

"Balayang." He greets.

"Batman." Wayne says, and, after a once-over, Red discovers...huh. Well, Balayang wasn't _too far_ off.

"Batman." He corrects himself, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He tugs his helmet down.

"You were in the sewers," Batman comments, astutely, "You're in Gotham."

"Yup." He pops the _p_ and touches his voice modulator. It got wet in the sewer. He tugs it off and wipes it off on his clothes, but the armour gets in the way. "Can you clean this?" He asks.

Wayne, shockingly, takes it - albeit with a pause - and rubs it with his cape. It's a strange sight, from a grown man dressed as a Bat, but whatever. He returns it, and Red tests it. Good enough.

"Thanks."

"Have you found your identity?" He asks, but his tone tells Red that he knows he hasn't. Why else would he be in the _sewer_? Well, then again, what reason towards his _name_ would involve a tube of shit?

"No." He shakes his head, "I'm looking for someone, though. I think they used to know me." He nods at the sewer, "I thought they'd be down there, but...Well, now that I say it out loud it just sounds dumb. Who hangs out in a sewer?"

"Killer Croc." Batman replies, as if it's the most normal thing in the world, "But I assume that's not who you had in mind."

"No. Well, I hope not. They looked pretty human to me...Unless Killer Croc is a gang name."

"It's not. But he is human. Only looks like a crocodile because of a severe skin condition and mutation."

"That's a lot of information that I have little use for, Bats." Red replies, "But you can help me? Offer still stands, right?"

"Of course." He nods, "Who are you looking for?"

"Someone with green eyes." He replies, which is...vague, to say the least. "Tan skin, green eyes, long, dark hair..." Well, that's just _him_ , "I think they were a woman-" not him, "-but I'm not sure. I didn't get a good look. But they were trained. We fought."

"You're searching for someone you fought with?" He asks, as if raising an eyebrow could be expressed vocally, "What where they wearing? Were you in the sewer?"

"They had a sword. Wore some red robes...They told me to stand down. I was angry." He pauses, then remembers the second question before he vanishing into his fascination, "We were underground. There was a green lake that I came out of."

Batman frowns. Well, he always frowns, but it deepens, this time. Very serious guy.

"Did it glow?"

"Yeah." He nods. So, maybe Batman can help more than he originally thought. Maybe he knows this person.

"Do you know where it is?"

"Stupid question, 'course not." Red grunts, "If I _did_ I'd _be_ there. I ran outta there as quick as I could, but I was freaking out so it was all a blur, I guess. That's all I got...Now can you help me, or not?"

"I think the woman you are looking for is Nyssa al Ghul." Batman states. He turns, and starts walking away. Red races after.

"Hey!"

"I wasn't leaving." He says, sounding...somehow _hurt_. They keep walking, side-by-side now, but the mood is different.

"That's- okay. So, Nyssa al Ghul. You know where she is?"

"No."

Silence.

"Ooookay...Then where are we going?"

"To my home. I can contact her."

"Oh."

They walk to what looks to be a black tank that's _slightly_ shorter. It's like if a Lamborghini was made by the US military and Gerard Way.

Batman opens it from the top, and Red hops into one side. The engine is silent, and it moves smoothly. Red didn't know a car could be this quiet.

In fact, it's _too_ quiet. Red breaks it.

"So, you knew Nyssa al Ghul?" He asks, unsure which part is the first and which the surname, and too scared to guess and be impolite.

"Yes. She...is the sister of my wife."

"Oh." Well that's...also, a coincidence. "Your wife?" He asks. Richard Grayson-Wayne...-al Ghul's mother, then? But he can't mention him, so he stays silent.

"In a way," he seems to correct, a bit quickly, "It's not a traditional marriage." He replies. Oddly private information to tell him, but he's not mad about it, "I was forced into the marriage because of their father, Ra's...but that's not important." He waves a hand awkwardly, and looks over at him.

"Oh." Red nods. He sits back in the chair. It's comfortable.

"Where did you get your suit?" Batman asks. He pulls his cowl down, and Red finds himself relaxing a little. He's...less intimidating, when he just looks like a man. A man that...Red could've _swore_ he's seen before... Oh, god. The billboard.

He realises he's silent too long, and says, "Made it myself."

He shows off the mobile computer with a grin that Bruce Wayne can't see.

"Well, didn't make this part." He admits, which is also strange. He doesn't know why he's telling him this. Maybe it's because he thought he was Richard. He was so confident in it...Their faces looked so similar, but the eyes...He couldn't have been. Or maybe it's because Wayne broke the ice first. Told him something personal, so now Red will, in return. Wonderful. Spy tactics. Even more wonderful, now he's uncomfortably attached to this grown man like a weird, father-figure-esque vigilante with a tank.

So, Red has daddy issues.

That's information. Good or bad, he doesn't know. But information nonetheless.

"I..." He won't be tricked again, "Found it." He shrugs, "Rest is all me."

"Kevlar?"

"Kevlar-Nomex. Didn't want to get burnt. It's basically two layers. I'm not _that_ good, so it's kinda just stitched together, but it fits. The armour is just titanium plates spray painted a bit."

"It's good."

He smiles. A professional vigilante is complimenting him. This is good. He's going to get a good grade is vigilantism, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve...

They turn off-road, and suddenly are driving straight at the side of a mountain.

"Uh, Batman," he points ahead, "Think we're going the wrong way."

"No. This is home." He says, so confidently that Red wonders if he's wrongly judged this man, and they're going to go up in flames.

Then, they phase through the mountain.

Or, well. They go through a waterfall, the leads into a cave on a metal platform. It takes him a minute, though.

" _Oh_."

Red stares, wide-eyed as they roll in. After a few seconds, they come to a halt on a circular platform. The top pops up, and Batman climbs out.

Red follows, a bridge extending from the centre of the metal onto the cavern floor across the way. It's a long drop down into the water below, and Red really doesn't know if he can swim or not. He follows after Batman, sticking close until he's safely on the stone.

An old man stands at the foot of the stairs- the stairs- in the corner, and Red waves, awkwardly.

"Master Batman...who may this be?" He asks, in an English accent.

"Red X." Red introduces, "Who are you?"

The man and Batman make eye contact, before saying, "Agent A, at your service, young master." That's...equally as strange as hearing _Master Batman_ , but he's going to trust that Batman isn't some crazed sex lunatic with old British men at his beck and call. He can't be. Red's already attached.

"Agent A is my coworker." Batman says, as he sits in a swivel chair in front of _several_ 4k monitors. He's not sure what kind of mega-gamer this man is, but he's gotta have some _serious_ contacts to get _any_ game to extend that far. He pulls his cowl down, and Red walks up behind him.

He watches him work. Clicking into a program he doesn't recognize, entering something, and then typing some more. He doesn't know what language it's in, but Red can't understand, which means that Nyssa al Ghul must speak it, which means that Red should be able to, but he doesn't. Unless Nyssa al Ghul doesn't know him, and they've got the wrong person...No.

He'll meet her. And if it's not her, they'll look more. Batman promised. He'd help him, and if he wants to find this person, Batman will help.

Batman turns to him, then, and Red steps back.

"Take a seat." Bruce Wayne says, gesturing at the chair beside him. Red looks at it, then slowly lowers himself in.

"So...how long's this gonna take?" He asks, "I don't really know how to get back here if it's gonna be an all-nighter."

"It might take a few days, but you can stay here as long as you'd like." Wayne says. Red narrows his eyes, and the man seems to feel it, because he raises his hands in surrender. "I want to help you, X." He says. Well, not the part of the name _Red_ was using, but he supposes it makes about as much sense.

"Red."

"Red." Wayne repeats, nodding. "Well, Red, I _do_ want to help you. I don't know if you have any place of residence right now, but I have plenty of space. Extra beds and food."

"Nyssa al Ghul will be coming here?"

"Yes."

He ponders it. He's not dumb. And he's paranoid. And, apparently, has daddy _and_ trust issues. And Wayne isn't exactly the most trustworthy of people, from his perspective.

"I'll stay." He decides, "But the helmet stays on. You may be dumb enough to show me _your_ identity, but I don't trust like that."

Wayne laughs, barely more than a quick inhale, but it's there. He raises an eyebrow, "Well, that's the first time someone's said that to me." He says, quietly, "But okay. I can respect that."

Red nods, shortly. Curtly.

"Although, I'm not so sure how I'll help you find your identity if you withhold it from me," he says, slowly.

"You're not finding it. Nyssa al Ghul is." He replies, a bit too quickly. Wayne watches him for a bit, and he shifts. "So...about that food." He's starving.

* * *

Bruce Wayne does not laugh. Not a lot, at least.

After the one momentary fleet of one in the cave, there's barely been so much as a glimmer of a smile. He's...nice. He isn't _mean_ , but he's very blunt. Blunt, but welcoming, he supposes.

Agent A makes him dinner and cookies, and they eat together. Red slips his helmet up enough to eat, but no more. He grumbles about how stupid he looks, but quickly dismisses the idea of actually _taking_ it _off_. He might have that stupid mask from the lake on underneath, but that just covers his eyes. He's not an idiot. His hair, nose, jawline and general _face shape_ is...Batman could so easily turn him in.

He's working with A.R.G.U.S., for god's sake.

Red hopes that Nyssa al Ghul will be able to tell him who he is, or, at least, give him some clues. But Batman doesn't need to know. _Vigilantes_ don't need to know.

Red feels like an idiot, but he's justified, goddammit! He's justified.

Batman could double-cross him and lock him up in prison. He _is_ a murderer, after all.

"The fish is good, Agent A," He says, finishing off his plate and grabbing the cookies. He takes two, since that seems reasonable, but double checks with a glance that he's not overstepping.

"Thank you, sir." Agent A replies, politely. Then he nods at the plate, "Those are for you, young master. You may take as many as you like."

Huh.

They could still double-cross him-

"Thanks."

He finishes his food quickly, and is led through the giant fucking house - right. The Wayne's are rich. He read that, in Richard's file, but for some reason he didn't really connect Richard's wealth with Bruce Wayne/Batman's wealth. - to a bedroom.

Red pauses outside the door. He rubs his hand and looks up at Wayne.

"Do you have medical supplies?"

Bruce Wayne levels his gaze, and holds out a hand. Red places his injured fist over. Dinner made it worse, although that's not really saying much, considering his attempt at a splint was just two popsicle sticks and some gauze.

Wayne peels off his gloves, carefully. He touches over the gauze, and looks up at Red.

"When did this happen?"

Red rolls his eyes- he's _parenting_ him. 

"All those fights I get into." He replies, "Can you brace it?"

"It might need a cast."

"No."

"Red-"

"No. You're not my dad, Wayne. And we're not friends. We're _working together_ \- _you're_ helping _me_. That's all this is." Red says, glaring.

He can still double-cross him!

There's a pause, and then Wayne nods. He swallows, and looks uncomfortable that he did, after. He must know Red saw.

"I'll brace it."

* * *

Red shuts and locks the door after saying a very uncomfortable _good night_ to the Batman, finally removing his helmet after checking the room for cameras and bugs. It's clean.

They could still double-cross him.

There's two doors in the room. One leading to a bathroom with a shower, and one into a walk-in closet. Red enters the bathroom, locking that door and checking _more_ for any tampering. None.

He strips himself down, looking in the mirror and staring at his sweaty, scarred body. He spots an old bullet wound, along with something that looks like a scratch on his shoulder. He rubs it and vaguely recalls Batman telling him of Killer Croc. Who _was_ he?

There's two long slits under his chest, and he touches them. They're faded- all of his marks are faded, except for the bruises he's recently sustained. And his broken hand. Wayne set the bone, cleaned the cuts, applied some healing cream and then gave him a brace for it. He also gave him new meds, which is good, because his were cheap as shit - all of his stuff is cheap as shit, actually, even compared to what the bottom of this _sink_ has. And he stole his!

Red slips the brace off and climbs into the shower. He lets the cold run on his back before turning boiling, and he rocks his head back underneath. Red hasn't showered since his second night as his base.

It's...nice.

The water is nice. The warmth is nice. The rush is soft and trickles down his back and chest. He shuts his eyes and scrubs shampoo through his greasy hair. Scrapes off grime and dirt and sin from his skin with his bare hands. He grabs the bottle that looks like the shampoo one but isn't. It tells him to put it in his hair and wait, so he does, tilting his head forward and away from the burst of hot.

He doesn't know how long to wait, so he just stands until his neck is cold and then washes the cream out.

Red dries himself down and looks at the tiny towels next to the bigger ones. He feels like he should know what they're for, but he doesn't. Rich people live different lives than he does, he supposes, and puts it out of his mind. Maybe it's for painting his nail and coating his face is spray paint for the eyes and aerosol deodorant - cologne, whatever. Who cares.

Red lies down in the soft bed after, butt ass naked and cuddled against the soft pillow and between silky sheets and a poofy blanket. He might be in heaven.

Red might not trust Batman with his face, but he does with his memories and his presence and his hand and enough to sleep in his house and eat his food...Red doesn't understand his own decisions, but he knows enough that Batman is important.

He's important to him, somehow. He's the father of Richard Grayson-Wayne, and married to Nyssa al Ghul's sister. Somehow, someway, they are connected. And if that means Red gets to relax in a comfy bed for a few nights then he's down.

Tomorrow, he'll ask Bruce Wayne about Nyssa al Ghul and Gotham.

For now, he'll sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I hope this is good writing


	6. Chapter 6

Red rubs his eyes, and slips his mask on. He's not sure what he's going to wear, since his uniform is still sweaty and unappealing to put on.

He searches the walk-in closet - _still_ no cameras or mics, and he's certain he has to be missing them - and finds civilian clothing resting on the hangers. They're a bit too big for him, but he slips them on anyway. A blue sweatshirt is warm enough and he ties his hair up into the world's tiniest ponytail before slipping the hood up. It covers enough of his face, he thinks, and then heads out.

Breakfast is a feast, similarly to dinner. Rich people.

He eats while ignoring Bruce Wayne's glances, flipping him off when he hands his plate off the Agent A.

"Take a picture." He snaps, then relaxes and says, "Sorry."

"It's okay." He replies, "Is your suit dirty?"

"Yeah. Not sure how to clean it, though...Never had to." That's because he never really showered. Not properly. Not like that before, and now he doesn't want to feel grimey ever again.

"Agent A can wash it for you." He says, looking up at the old man, who nods back.

With that conversation over, Red changes topics smoothly. Well, not really.

"Nyssa al Ghul." He says, "You never really told me about her."

Wayne nods, slowly. He hands his plate to A before leaning forward and taking a sip of his coffee.

"She's an assassin from the League of Assassins."

"That feels a little..." Red makes a gesture, "On the nose. Go on."

"She trains recruits and finds undiscovered Lazarus Pits." He pauses, probably for Red to question what a Lazarus Pits is, and he does.

"Is that..."

"That's what you were revived from." He says, now sighing and rubbing his forehead, "I believe you were resurrected in one by Nyssa. I'm not sure why, or who you are, but she'll know. She'll help you."

"I was dead?"

That's...new. It makes some sense, he supposes. Considering he doesn't remember anything before it- considering he can't find any information about himself. Who knows how long he was dead for?

"Or dying. Or you were too old and were de-aged in the Pit. Any are plausible and I don't...know enough to tell you."

Red doesn't know how to respond.

* * *

Nyssa al Ghul arrives in Gotham the following night. Red is taking great advantage of his training room when Wayne approaches him.

  
"Nyssa is here." He tells him, "She is meeting us on the roof."

He makes a face, but he doesn't see that, and then he stands and shakes out his arms. 

"Eccentric." He hums, following him up the stairs. And then some more. And more. A few more stairs. And then some extra stairs. And then one final set of stairs.

"Nyssa al Ghul." Wayne greets.

"Bruce Wayne." The woman says. She stands with her back to them, facing the city. She has long, dark hair, and is wearing red armour with long...scarf-like fabric waving in the wind.

She turns to face them with green eyes. Tan skin.

"And who might this be?" She asks, quietly. She approached Red, who, on instinct, drops to his knees. Her presence is...commanding. Stronger than when he first woke. Stronger than Batman's.

"Red X." He says, looking up at her, "You were at the Pit I was saved from. You know who I am." He tells her.

She places a hand on his helmet. Red tenses, but she's already lifting it off, clicking the unlock open.

"You, my child..." al Ghul touches his face with a gentle hand. Thumbing over the cheekbone, "Are right at home."

"I don't know my name." He says, "I don't know anything."

"I'm not the one you need to speak with," she replies, as if it's as simple as that. She looks up, then sighs, and meets his eyes again, "Wayne has left." She grumbles.

Nyssa al Ghul lets go of him, and steps away. 

"You know who he is, right?"

"Batman." He says, but doesn't stand.

She scoffs, and shakes her head, "I'm sorry, child. I didn't...I didn't mean for this to be your life."

"So you did do this?" Red stands, now. He fiddles with his helmet and steps closer. "You know who I am? You can help me."

"I can't help you any more than I already have." She snaps, and he flinches, "...I wasn't much of a help to you, in the first place."

He tilts his head.

"You were dead." She explains, facing him. "Caught and killed in an explosion. Your name was Robin."

_Robin_.

Not Red, not Rose, not Richard, not Roy. _Robin_.

"The Lazarus Pit brought you to life, but at a cost. You don't have a soul."

"A what?" He makes a face, "Souls aren't- they're real?"

"Yes. Your body was saved by the waters, but your soul is stuck underneath. I had planned on rehabilitating you and returning you to your..." She gestures around him, "Family. But you ran. And I couldn't find you."

"I stayed in Gotham." He tells her, "I didn't...I tried to find who I was. I tried to find you."

"Yes. Bruce told me you searched the sewers." She smiles at him in amusement, and he feels his face redden, "We were underneath the Gotham docks, child. Close, but not the sewers."

He nods, slowly. It's a lot of information. A lot of strange, unbelievable information. But it feels right. It _has_ to be right.

"My name is Robin." He says, slowly, "Thank you for telling me...But I- I don't know what to do, now."

Robin looks around the rooftop. They're alone. She told the truth.

"I don't have anyone."

"You have a family," she tells him, but he shakes his head.

"I won't know them. It won't matter." He makes a face and peels his mask off, tossing it to the ground, "Take me with you."

"Robin-"

" _Take me **with** you_, Nyssa al Ghul. I'm trained. I can help you. I can- you train recruits. _Recruit me_." He insists, "You're the only person I can trust."

"You have no clue how wrong you are, my child," she whispers, snatching the mask and holding it up to him, "Put this back on. Put this back on and return to your family. You'll be happier there."

" _Nyssa_ -"

"You'll never forgive yourself if you left, now."

"I don't care." He shakes his head, "Don't you get it? I don't care. I was brought back to life and my first instinct was _fight_. I stole an apartment from a dead man and barely flinched when I carried his corpse upstairs." He laughs, breathlessly - it sounds mad now, but in the moment, it was just- he was _surviving_ , "I stole. Built a fucking _uniform_ like a vigilante and stole from government facilities. I can hack into A.R.G.U.S. and kill their armed guards with minimal injuries sustained. I am _useful_ , I can _help you_ \- _you_ can help me."

She shakes her head.

"I can't bring your memories back." She says. "Training and missions won't tell you who you were."

"I have my name. That's all I need. Without you I- I won't know where else to go."

" _Home_."

"I don't have one."

They stare at each other for a moment longer, before she seems to crumple. Not completely. She stands strong and proud, but her eyes are sad.

"Even if I told you how close your father is?"

"I won't remember him, you said it yourself."

She sighs.

"...I'll help you. But I can't promise you anything. This won't ensure a recovery, this may not give you any satisfaction. But you may train at Nanda Parbat until you choose otherwise. But I can't call you Robin."

Robin looks at his hands, rubbing the gloved palms before looking up, "I only just got my name back." He whispers.

"It's not your real name, anyway, child."

He shakes his head, "Neither was Red...whatever you want to call me...you can call me." He decides.

At least he knows it. At least he knows he's _Robin_. And, in a way, he supposes...he's _Red_ , too. He's _R_. A golden _R_ wrapped in black. And now, he's whoever Nyssa al Ghul needs him to be.

And he'll take it.

"Sibi."

"What?"

"Your name. Sibi. It means boy." She tells him, and he tilts his head.

"So descriptive."

"We know nothing of who you are, Sibi, it is fitting. You are a boy, and that is all. Or would you prefer _apprentice_ , Sabi mutamarin fi harfa?"

"The name's Sibi, nice to meet you."

"Good." Nyssa al Ghul turns and tosses the mask back at him, "We leave immediately."

Sibi covers his eyes with the fabric, tugging his helmet on and chasing after.

He's not Jordan. He's not Jason. He's not Aaron, or Ethan, or Richard, or Thomas, or Roy. He's Red, he's Robin, he's _R_. 

He's Sibi.

Or maybe he's none.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter fellas. The next story in the series will continue after Sibi/Red/Robin/Dick has trained as a League recruit for a bit.


End file.
